..well I let You in suspense long enough, and as I promised You, proof and perhaps reincarnation I will dispensing for the time being despised to give myself myself time to stretch , reality and perhaps even stretch the aching muscles to get benefit for undo pressure as he I refer to as th ok gh I never know him and still stretch for more time and even more to gain insight into what it may take to figure out

But hey insight comes in white spurts of interpretation if in that.

And anything it takes but anything mentally like on a magic carpetride.

Such though not totally immersed in the actual experience of it

Like what happened before and during, but, while!

Whooooooo[oooooo[[lol oops! And let me not get off this ride of still, very still, until I can know of either! I don't care anymore which end get it bit I know (sluggishly) that the rise downstream may be scene as easier , but oh' so covered the danger abide on the bottom side aye, and he yawned produndly and profusely.

The next installment if it ever happens , may swelge into some of the senses especially white ...and then from that point on, delicious and fragrant as it is masculine without the intrusion.

The a heart of the matter hm hm.....that is .now the scene changes into an (Eternal version of Ken kasey on the beach with Einstein on the beach with who is left from I'm the best)

I admit I'm stretching it my back, the time frame to really really show you that includes me, that at least a convincing or at least an educated guess can be accorded. But I an honest and unrest no earnest in my desire to test the limits here.

Why? Because why any test run is frightening. Unsettling.

The white.That's itLight. Evolution.conditioning .Before I forget fear. Yes very basic fear like before the neanthaler man even, fear. Openness. A lot of stuff in the garbage can .

When I get there they say you'll know it. But them again you never really. know. Do you? Athematically noMathematically? May be.

The eternal universe made of vast fire is the universe. That You may verse ,Has to be a unity since only he can see himself with the aim of understanding himself in Total ity.

Has to why? Because the whole crystal could crack including all the condition ing t hat YOU can imagine.All of it bit only a very small part of it.That is glued but can melt.

That part could change.

But the Universe fill that part as quickly as milllllllise seconds, not time enough to form a perfect substitute but close enough.

The replaced new part is almost identical only missong a few peedwcr parts.

Given eternal time the regeneration of such close resembling copies show that .

It won't be You, as you were but close enough for deception, at inxreasing rates of simulation.

The You is really a new you at least for the time being.

Of your afraid of the word universal then the cuts lost irredeemable for ever. Oh not as You may , on recovery but in the wider sense of ridding yourself of the baggage , the cut baggage your carrying and recovery becomes becomes useless.

Some scientist just published the idea that Einstein's Idea of the unifying his ideas was a needless and wasteful endeavor.

I dunno. There are cuts and. Cuts.

White , and black. Forgetting Red, now.

So this something who knows what is filled by that 1 Universe, and forms him from mud, why?

Why? Because, coming from far away, needs to fill every nuance of the model. How close he gets to be able is a trick the model ha to become the modelor eldoror,

The be that one which should be unified.

Its everything the ring, and how everything makes the world around and no one can see his eternity because he denies his simulation. His own facade. Because unless it it hos own, the all, CANNOT BE HELD INTACT, bit it does simply he or she removed the old part and replaces it with strong glue with an equally shiny model.

They never find out because when its time , the creator becomes the created.

No exit, only one in the mind, and not in reality. It is only in the now can this ever be recreated in a flash of light for ever captured in am eternal album

Next installment deals with the grand compromise. The psychological through the political. Oh I missed one, the philosophical.

Kant was right every body should admit it by now , in a compromised situation what better them to use its double entendre in a sense that what. compromises us, is a lack of difference we should not worry about if we can't slice it. If there is a larger upward sense of what's involved in compromise , letting go it's nominal meaning, but lounging out as if, the difference is notable, then things will clear.

The proof should be in the pudding, as it certainly could be.

Compromised/compromise

How to go into the world of differences before aquainting one's self with that of the world of similarities?

That is the crux of all and the singular, that is the consistamce of the Herculian struggle for conscious man to be able to exercise his will while exercising that which undermines it.

What possible motivation is there that the choice of a cosmologocally motivated god. .

To move forward , toward a model such as a super man, why did this project man evolve into this pattern, if regression is the final destination. Why , are people getting off this merry go round in scores? Why?

Maybe because they don't believe there is a way to experience the innards of universal conaxiousnesss, of the unearthly denial of the inevitable based on set, theory and probability. They want to call it quits because they have a very very narrow of a sliver of experienced thought , without which they can assume anything but their inclusive compromised situation in it.

They can't unable to see themself as anything but a universalmy conscious being, afraid to die to that universality, an idea that has its roots maybe for hundreds of not thousands of years.

Oh me, poor me, a victim at the hands of aubordinal and fearful types, afraid of losing an inch of their self into the unknown, into which they must have an inkling that they are destined to arrive to?

If that is not presumptuous , then the thought of the benevolent creator, who blunders from alpha to omega.

Bit the nich is reserved, and no opportunity to think that such is the conditioned necessity, the absolute condition within a man can attain his freedom, even at the chance overcoming the ideas related to the bonds that love has circumstanced around him.

Yes, love at times struggles against the unknown, which seems antithetical , and thinking how that ignorance will hurt that person. But is that love? And can it be demonstrated as having a selfish motive?

After all the manyform tribulations about love and the steps to bring them into the realm of eternal sunlight, white and undefiled, can it not be visualized as the moatnprofound vehicle which moves every subtle difference existing under its realm?

The realm of eternal sunshine, where darkness fears entrance because IT knows its only an absence and not a presence?

But for this to occur, there needs a practice perhaps billions or even trillion years passing, BUT Oh, can be gained in a fraction of itself, a tiny fraction that counts, as the universe measures in inatantainity, or close to that, and you're there , there in the measure. ofntue effects of karmic law, but it happens only:

When you forget yourself , when you can stay totally uncommitted, alienated, on the sustenance of merely a diet of manna whose recepie5 remains as enigmatic as the sands downtime of all s deserts of desire.

Now to those who have been able to follow, I may credit gib, whose fortunes most closely resembles mine, without perhaps in investment in terms in terms of nearly a half a century, that , but without the strangely angled and severely cut, magically inclined fatale , and you will realize the negative effects , or negative characteristics of borderline situations.

Such are a product of a medicum of interest in compromise in a compromising situation, where number one, numero uno, the whole distinction thing is meant to benefit the Other.

Now in under ground where few thread or dare, time is not merely only a situation. There is measured congruence and the satanic free of reincarnating as animal can be excluded automatically.

Why? Cause the dogs can not reverse. There is no time to reverse to because there is no time that can account for a man being an animal. No.

Why not? Because if it would be true, then such truth would show some semblance, positively. . Or if it is happening now even now as I as we think, but its unperceived, because IT happened say billions of years ago, the undoing even so, would also happen with that scale of recording values.So for practical purposes it is not as a mystery as popular opinion would have it. On the contrary. Say take a diamond. In the rough it is like another stone, but once it's faceted, it can not be again roughed up. Its too hard the hardest there is can be broken up that's all. Given to a self indulged lady, it can do wonders.

But the sun may be dead by then, or, worse, we could prove IT wrong and prove us wrong, by being our own undoing.

But why persists. Why be out own undoing, when our treasured philosophers resting in Walhalla, are merely resting, they can never die, and those who see it differently, well they will suffer to repeat their unlearned pain, with which their pleasure is so violently tied.

If these two opposing factions don't work together, neither god nor the hidden one can get together somehow, then god can not descend into the underworld again to prove to the faithful.

See the continents convulsingSee the forests burn to ashesSee the sons of Mim awakenIn the fatal lightning flashes

As the winds consume the wastelandFrom the south Surtr advancesWith his minions tearing corpsesBright his sword and sharp his lances

Aesir then prepare their weaponsEyes are clear and arms are steadyThe Midgard serpent JörmungandrUpon the battle plain is ready

With his heavy hammer MjolnirStrides the mighty god of thunderTo do battle with the serpentAnd to rend the world asunder

June 30, 2014

N.B. This poem is an Epyllion, a brief narrative poem with a romantic or mythological theme. It is written in trochaic tetrameter, like some of the ancient Eddas.

Glossary:Ragnarök - Final battle and death of the AesirAesir - The Norse godsAsgard - one of the Nine Worlds and home of the AesirValhalla - a majestic, enormous hall located in Asgard, ruled over by the chief Norse god OdinHeimdall - A Norse god who blows his horn to signal the beginning of RagnarökGjallarhorn - Heimdall's hornMidgard- Middle Earth, or the world of humansBifröst - the burning rainbow bridge between Midgard and AsgardYggdrasil - The sacred Norse central tree that holds the Nine WorldsMim - an Asian renowned for his knowledge and wisdom who has been beheaded. Odin carries around Mím's preserved head and it recites secret knowledge and counsel to him.Surtr- a fire troll with a flaming sword who sets the world on fire.Jörmungandr- The world serpent or ouroboros that surrounds the earth and grasps his own tail. When he lets go, the world will end. Jörmungandr's arch-enemy is the god Thor.Thor - The Norse god of thunderMjolnir - Thor's hammer and principal weapon

Alas son of the NorthYour end is comeOlaf OlafsonMighty VikingTo Valhalla soon to goChild of Odin warrior strongYour life is a wondrous songLong it shall sing in memory

In this twilight of sorrowYour people remember their LordIn silence they await processionAll eyes upon the groundOh man of the NorthThe sadness lives this nightA final journey soon to beginYour longship now awaits

A strong shipIt shall bear you into eternityMightiest warriors await youThe halls of glory sing your praiseOh true Viking sonYour glory is known beyond the starsOn the last day your glory shownSoon you sit in Odin’s halls

King HaroldIn his majesty displayedStanding on the jetty awaitsA sly smile upon his faceHis greatest enemy now goneBetrayal did kill Odin’s sonOn foreign field of EnglandOlaf’s life song did end

A village lies silentThe North does cry its tearsThe Valkyrie ride the skyTheir white flashing trailsThey crash down upon the earthOdin’s thunderous voice calls out from ValhallaCome my son we await youSuddenly all becomes still

The rain does stopThe lightning does ceaseThe thunder does speak no moreJust sorrowed silenceAll await you oh son of the NorthThe preparations completeNow take your final journeyValhalla awaits

Silence in the lord’s hallTonight it lies dark and sombreThe hill on which it stands bleakThe doors openTwo men come forth with torchesThe brazieres are beginning to be litThe hall of Olaf does seem to come aliveNow the hill not so bleak

Oh son of the NorthLie still upon your wooden litterOh man of strength and powerOdin awaits you in the kingly hallsNow let your song endIt is timeAll are ready for the final walkCome to Valhalla

The night is cold in the North tonightBy the jetty a mighty longship mooredThe fjord in darkness awaits a death ceremonyFrom Olaf’s hall on the hill a woman wailsSorrow does permeate the Northern airOn the sigh of the breeze a hero is calledThe ceremony of death shall soon beginA Viking Lord shall sail into Valhalla

Details | Valhalla Poem | Create an image from this poem.Rough Roads To RoamThe flames of the furnace (well-travelled by windslowly glazing the rags of gray women chagrinedat the sight of a hair fleeing tresses now thinned) sometimes billow like waves flooding naves through the night,when the lightning peeks in where the tension hangs tightwhile the lanterns, alarmed, appear fulgent with fright.

Having lost both his hands, and now dancing for dimes,Captain Hook haunts the alleyway's rivers of rhymes,sometimes singing or prancing to mimic the mimeswith white faces contorted to pillars of pain,as the ringmaster murmurs “we're all the insane”and the inmates dunk donuts in droplets of rain.

With their hammers in hand, in their plum pinafores, Satan's soldiers of fortune wield powers of Thor'sleaving blood on bent bodies, the tombstones of warslining highways and byways with manna and goldfor the mastermind movers, survivors consoled with some pie in Valhalla (or so they've been told).

Above boulevards, battered with batches of bricks,flys the Duchess of Dawdle on waxed candlesticks;while she watches, debauches, her Gigolo tricks as he talks (on their walks in the summer-day parks where a parrot kneels praying, a parakeet barks)’bout the buffed brazen beaks of the latter-day larks.

Hoary goblins glow gruesome, they leap from the loftto the hard-hearted rues, shedding tears that they've quaffedthrough the night of the dead as the clarinets coughedand the keepers kept watch so that no one escapeddingy dungeons where priests and their puppets hide capedbehind walls lined with tulips and justice hung draped.

In the Garden of Eaten, where apples once grew,lie the bones, somewhat blanched, from the last barbecueand the snakes strut like storks down a lost avenuealong tracks like the cracks on the mask of the moonall alight with the shadows that seep down a duneas the firefly crawls from a crimson cocoon.

Phantom trains travel tunnels (dispatched in all haste),voiding tickets to nowhere, it seems such a wasteto see roadblocks with red lights at dead ends misplacedat the base of the bowels of the bottomless pitwhere reflections of life seem so damned counterfeit from the back of the eyes of the blind hypocrite.

The oceans lay barren, the garbage dumps fillingwith fracking and cracking and lead water spilling,for milling and drilling are thrilling but killingthe birds and the beasts and the tea leaves, soon falling,yet gurus roast chestnuts but can't heed their callingwhile mauling and crawling on knees while they're brawling.

Unshorn sheep in the meadow are led to the bayto be brainwashed and fleeced, trusting donkeys that brayof the virtues of demons that haunt yesterday,while the vultures deflower the turtle dove laneswhere the blood trickles up and the cruel crimson stainsEaster eggshells and feathers – that’s all that remains.

One eyed bees pilot lines through electrical stormsand blind hornets hum hymns when they're swirling in swarmswhile the rest are repressed as the blue marble warms(regent Queens losing sight that the end has begun)and for eyes of the ewes, veils of wool have been spun and the wasps fly their flags from the butt of a gun.

Seven trumpets (attempting to echo the hornsof the Siamese goats and the three Unicornsgiving birth to the mirth in the temple of thorns)sound the bugles of sorrow inside of the seaof crazed lies of the wormwood afloat like a peain a pod of dark dolphins that can't disagree.

Often bellowed by barkers, to crowds with no faces,are words (in their aftermath, leaving no traces)of picnics and parties in limbo-like placeson paths to perdition where pundits are preachingand sirens belch bullets while pirates prowl, breachingthe shadow's barbed branches, with whistles blown, screeching.

They're dissecting dissenters that dare to annoyand then trample with jackboots sent in to destroy,until taming the toes of the last Gypsy boywho gets caught in the craw of their cold catacombwith no rescue by running nor staying at home,and no freedom to breathe, only rough roads to roam.

Details | Valhalla Poem | Create an image from this poem.Norse Mythology, Return Of The Slayer Of DragonsNorse Mythology, Return Of The Slayer Of Dragons

( Part One, Darkness Arrives)

I - (THE PLEA)

Slayer of weak beasts, ravager of torn breastsDarkness from East, dragons its armored crestsWhat hero dares to slay this foul evilWhat man may dispatch this tool of the devil?Hell's fires doth burn hot from its massive jawsInnocent red blood drips from its sharp clawsHero, bring thy brave heart - courage made of steelHope's faith, all it begets in thy iron will.

Shall Valhalla send relief - heroic handsSalvation from great beast in weakened landsDoth not their sad cries reach their merciful godsCan avenging warriors smite with lightning rods?Hero! Bring thy sword and armor with dire hasteFor this foul creature, such dear lives now wastesBlessings on thy travels to their burnt citiesFor they languish so sad in their deep pities!

(Part Two, Odin Sends A Hero)

II. - (THE ARRIVAL)

From dark skies, ball of fire downward fellFrom Asgard's vault, landed he in their hellFrom Thor's loins this invincible form was sownIn armored flesh, power never before knownSword fired from Asgard's own best armor makersWith Thor's own hammer, still an earth shakerStanding eighteen foot from head to his bare feetThor's new warrior anything but sickly sweet.

With blue eyes and a mind keen as dawn's new lightsCourage born from his father's greatest fightsSeeing desolation, far as eye could seeHe had been summoned down to set this world freeWith sword and hammer obeying Odin's decreeWings formed by Loki, flew he to the seaFound, huge tracks of massive, marauding black beastBlood all about, stripped bones from its bloody feast!

( Part Three, Slayer Finds The Beast)

III - (The Battle)

Far off, clouds of smoke reveal the beast at playSlayer knew battle coming, he knelt to prayWith words sincere, he asked for Odin's favorStrength to beast destroy, victory to savor.As Valhalla's sign sky-fire, showed brightly clearSlayer arrived, to conquer dragon with no fearBeast saw Slayer in armor and keen to fightCharged forth with fire and all its massive mightSlayer stepped quick and sent spear into its sideA mere nick to sting and burn its fierce pride.

Angry beast turned and blew fire upon empty stoneSlayer plunged sword hilt deep, hitting dragon bone One mighty leap on its huge scaly back Its vulnerable neck he began to hack.Beast fast rolled left throwing slayer right offSpoke of Slayer's death with arrogant scoff.Slayer laughed out loud and gave a big smileSaid, beast you shall die in just a little whileWith that said, Thor's invincible hammer he threwDragon received true justice so long overdue!

( Part Four, Slayer Returns Victorious)

IV- (Fame, Feasts And Rewards)

Death had by Slayer's right hand found its placeSlayer relaxed and sighed, with smile on his faceWith one stroke he cut of mighty dragon's headA hero's final act to prove it truly dead.Victory won, back to Valhalla's great hallGlory found, for answering Odin's callFeast of honor as never had they beforeSlayer's name sung on Valhalla's every shoreOdin gave Slayer castles of solid gold Commanding his tale to forever be told!

Details | Valhalla Poem | Create an image from this poem.The ValkyrieIn days of yore, when Vikings vigorously reignedBeauty of the Valkyrie, vixen of intoxicating dreamsThe maidens chose a paladin who departed and gainedentrance into Valhalla, they were Odin's esteemed

Beauty of the Valkyrie, vixen of intoxicating dreamsGoddess to serve her warrior - immortally embracedEntrance into Valhalla, they were Odin's esteemedUnder her soft touch, favored men - tenderly placed

Beauty of the Valkyrie, vixen of intoxicating dreamsThe maidens chose a paladin who departed and gainedGoddess to serve her warrior - immortally embracedIn days of yore, when Vikings vigorously reigned.

The night is cold in the North tonightBy the jetty a mighty long ship mooredThe Fjord in darkness awaits ceremonyFrom the Lord’s hall on the hill a woman wailsSorrow does seem to be in the airOn the sigh of the wind a hero is calledCeremony of death shall soon beginA Viking Lord shall sail to Valhalla

The hall door opens and light floods withoutMen with torches walk down a pathwaySure of foot these men of the North walk proudBjorn the bear he leads the procession torch in handHis steely blue eyes looking straight before himAt the foot of the hill by the jetty people gatherThey look upon the line of torches approachesOnce more the wail from the hall

Bjorn drops his eyes knowing the painHis grief he must lock deep within himselfHe must be as strong as his Lord’s LadyShe must be strong for her children and the peopleShe wails not for her Lord this nightA sister of the Lord shall do the mourning for allBjorn raises his eyes once more keeping them on the dragonThe long ship that shall carry his Lord to Valhallah

Now the body of the the Lord Olaf is carried from the hallThere is silence everywhere as the body comes down the hillEight mighty warriors carry their Lord on a large wooden litterIndeed it is strewn with flowers what a wonderful scentBehind the body came the Lady Marga and the three childrenThen came the four sisters of OlafThey were followed by more warriors holding torchesThe procession walked silently down the hill.....

Details | Valhalla Poem | Create an image from this poem.The VoyageThe tempest rages, tossing longboats high -It’s better than a ‘straw death’ way to die.But is the cause the writhing Midgard snake?Are Aegir and his Maidens wide awake?Is Aegir lurking, planning a surprise,To clutch at us, with glee in his old eyes?I scan for nixies, undines, and mermaids,And hope we reach the land to savour raids.Next, comes the singing of the Lorelei:Ignore her voice if you don’t want to die!As storms subside, just sea spray makes us wet.Beware! Ran may be waiting with her net -She’d hope to drag us down to her stronghold;To buy our comfort there, we carry gold.So on and on we sail ‘til we sight land,As guided by the mighty Odin’s hand.And there I’ll fight: a hero’s death for me.Next stop Valhalla flown by Valkyr!

Lo, there do I see my father.Lo, there do I see my mother,My sisters and my brothers.Lo, there do I see the line of my people,Back to the beginning.Lo, they do call to me,They bid me take my place among themIn the Halls of Valhalla,Where the brave shall live forever,Where thine enemies have been vanquished,Nor shall we mourn but rejoice,For those who have diedThe glorious death.

When Thor’s mighty hammer sounds a thunderous call,this football team is willing to do it all.They are ready to plunder and pillage opposing teams.The Vikings are reality, not merely dreams.

They have played well before the overwhelming cheers.Success has come easily throughout their playing years.When the Vikings defend the home field in Minnesota,their vanquished adversaries are transported to Valhalla.

The offense is ready to score with an attack.The defense holds the opponent’s offense back.They answer the call by their chief god Odin.A new season is here. Let the games begin.

Details | Valhalla Poem | Create an image from this poem.Valhalla - Vikings' Paradise : MythologyIn Asgard, kingdom of the mighty God OdinA place awaits all battle fallen warrior heroesIt's in Valhalla where there is endless feastingAnd an ending of all griefs and sorrows

The Valkyries, Odin's warrior daughtersCarry the fallen heroes from the battlefield To Valhalla to join other fallen warriorsWhere they are restored to life fully healed

Each day the warriors fight on Asgard's plainTheir battle skills to sharpen and maintain Every evening wounds and injuries they sustainAre healed and each warrior made whole again

They dine on liquor and fresh cooked meatThat is always in great abundance for allProviding a delicious gourmet treatAt Odin's banquet in Valhalla's dining hall

July 18, 2014

Addition:Here is the poem which aroused my childhood interest in the Vikings, and to which I referred in my reply to Shadow. I would like to share it with others.It is "The Sea King's Burial" by Charles Mackay. It recalls the days when a Viking chief died and his body was placed in a boat. The vessel with full sail set and a fire lighted, was then sent drifting out to sea. It is a long poem so I am only quoting the first and last verses:

My strength is failing fast (Said the sea-king to his men). I shall never sail the seas Like a conqueror again, But while yet a drop remains Of the life-blood in my veins Raise, oh, raise me from my bed, Put the crown upon my head, Put my good sword in my hand, And so lead me to the strand, Where my ship at anchor rides Steadily; If I cannot end my life In the crimsoned battle-strife Let me die as I have lived, On the sea.

.......................................

Once alone a cry arose, Half of anguish, half of pride, As he sprang upon his feet, With the flames on every side. "I am coming! " said the king, Where the swords and bucklers ring, Where the warrior lives again, Where the souls of mighty men And the weary find repose, And the red wine ever flows, I am coming, great -All-Father, Unto thee! Unto Odin, unto Thor, And the strong, true hearts of yore: I am coming to Valhalla O'er the sea."

Details | Valhalla Poem | Create an image from this poem.My ValhallaThe great expanse of the Mississippijust outside a sleepy little ledge-lockedtown in western Wisconsin called Maiden Rock,is where we like to picnic in October.

Above the north/south railroad tracks at a spotoverlooking the river is our favorite picnic table.A century old working well with an ancient iron, creekysledge-handle provides fresh water.

Freight trains constantly rumble past in both bothdirections, frantically racing against the coming winter.The river, 3-miles wide at this stretch, surges a steady dominoes of whitecaps down the river.

White Pelicans, with their striking long yellow bills,huddle in vast rafts of white, just off the current, restingand feeding on small fish, their migration onlybeginning.

Details | Valhalla Poem | Create an image from this poem.Limerick crochetes: Our great uhr-Father from AfricaLimerick cochetés: Our great uhr-Father from Africa

Our great uhr-Father from AfricaHallowed be Thy fame in high Valhalla The Asian walk-about Down backbone coccyx snoutWho didst Thou mate in Peninsula Malaya

To produce orangutan MalaysiaDid our great uhr-cousin Gorilla Chimpanzee when in doubt Precede Thy walk-aboutSwinging from tree to tree to Australia

To judge by great life in Southeast AsiaSmoke-filled lungs from HAZE in Sumatra Death penalty for tout With drugs- Hell for khalwat*Is there doubt who preceded whom from Africa

• khalwat: (a Muslim – all Malays - religious law) According to which, no Malay may marry a non-Muslim nor be found in close proximity giving rise to suspicion of promiscuousness, law enforceable by religious courts whose officials are empowered to spy on offenders and report their activities to the relevant authorities

Details | Valhalla Poem | Create an image from this poem.VALHALLA-THE VIKINGS-PART 1In the bay of icy mists, the viking ghost ships arrive, sails set full ahead,Crashing anchors rattle loose, plunging beneath the cold murky surf,As the hailing horns of the dead, announce to their lord, Odin, thatValor's courageous have arrived, and wish to enter, the great halls ofValhalla.Here the cold winds of the north dwell, it's chillingBreezes flow freely, through the phantom warriors spirits.But these rough men fear not death, nor it's harsh breath, for theyAre vikings of the northern kingdoms, and they have come forTheir last rewards treasure, to enter beyond the gates of Valhalla,And are armed ready to fight, beside their God Odin,In victorious battle.In these waters of the ethereal unknown passage,The cracking and heaving, of these heavilyLaden vessels made of vapors thin mists,Send an eerie chill down the backs, of mortal men.As mountain icebergs float upon the windChilled oceans surface, the Valkyries approach,Smiling beneath their shimmering chain-mail ofBrilliance honor.On the evergreen shores, a timbered lined hall stands,It's gates of golden pitch blaze, with fires whiteHot flames of those concurred, their souls screamFor penance mercy.Two long swords, Chris-crossed are the gates steel dead bolts lock,Above it's embers glow, a fierce eagle with red crimson eyes,Grapples, it's sharpen claws, cutting deeply into the oaken shields,On the thatched roof of the golden hall.A lone wolf beneath therein, passes sniffing at theGarments of the fallen men, if fears scent, the wolf so smells,Cast out is this soul, and dammed it is forevermore.Within the many souls do enter, a hardy welcoming at the feastingTable mead and honey wine, is set before these hero's of honor.But outside the ships remain tethered, awaiting for their masters safeReturn, unaware of Thor's approach, his mighty hammer set at theReady.Striking with thunders raw force, the hammer of power, Brakes against the sheer ice, as quick as the lightning's flash,Freezing tidal waves clash upwards, swallowing whole all evidence,That these ghost ships ever existed.Oh Valhalla, I pledge thee my life, my fighting spirit, my blood and Body given in the name of Odin, for thy honor sake, shall I live and die,Behold the vow's pledge of these Nordic men, known as the Vikings.

Details | Valhalla Poem | Create an image from this poem.Operation Money JumpThanksgiving, 1971,a parachute pilgrim approaches Northwest Flight 305as Dan Cooper, anonymous businessman, anarchist airborne, black suit, black sunglasses, a black tieand a black briefcase broaching black motives,Portland to Seattle, prison or criminal pantheon, before he can be inducted into purgatory, or the Valhalla of antiherosthe unknown villain of a quiet causegot buckled into the last row of the 727stealth as painless sincold bluish clouds smearing the November sky during ascentas though flying through the palette of a sad Cezannewhile low volume, buttery jazz tinkered on the plane's airwaves,as the Stewardess handed him his bourbon sodaMr. Cooper placed a neat note in her hand with polite moxie,she took it with salted style, uninterested in a comeon,moments later, struting to the rear with applepie aplombthe quaint stranger, sunglasses removed, needed her to heel,to him she came, ready to reject his appeal,however, there would be no ripe rejection on this special day,her eyes of professional pity were met with his slow burning stareas he informed her with untroubled insistencethat he had a bomb, and that she needed to read the notewithout visible alarm,reading the demands made her feel excitedshe instantly felt sweat in so many places,she knew she'd give no resistance, she wanted to cooperate, for everyone's safety, briefly speaking with another Stewardessshe entered the dark cockpit, danger in her hands,there was going to be no argumentthe stipulations were going to be satisfiedin exchange for safe landing and undamaged life,returning to this man she'd never understandwho had the power to spontaneously change lives, she sat by him,the plush red seats made her feel so warmwhile sitting next to his insanely calm authority, it seemed as though he owned them allthe passengers, the crew, and aircraft,the skyjacker opened his briefcase as if it's contents were sacredshowing her the parts of his lunatic designthen quickly, carefully, closing the shock box,his eyes went back to the windowthe view giving him vignettes of what he knew as Vietnam, the mountains and divided greens, the mischievous mists,she asked him, "Do you have a grudge against Northwest?",to which Mr. Cooper replied with wry correction, "I don't have a grudge against your airline Miss,I just have a grudge. "Upon landing in Seattle at 5:PMthe innocent and uninformed travelers exited the planeonto the slick tarmac, untarnished and untraumatized,oblivious to the epic history that was being fuelled in partfrom their supporting roles on this Thanksgiving flight,the F.B.I. and airline owners were playing nicelike cats whom wanted the amusement and the ambush,Cooper was given four, nonmilitary parachutes as requested, and $200,000 in twenty dollar billsunmarked, random serial numbers, also as requested, although, to help make sure that the "House" would winall the money came from the Reserve Bank of San Franciscowith every bill number begining with "L" , and issued in 1969,a little trick for the devil himself,less than two hours had elapsed since takeoff from Portlandyet the hijacker was well on his way to meeting his ultimate objective,each of his goals fitting together with precisionlike watch parts keeping time of a fragile freedom,after receiving the 21 pounds of illicit cashgiddy with blushing banditry,intoxicated by the scent of fresh money harvestCooper did a jumpy Irish jigout of view of snipers and cameramen, nightfall was dimming the stageas the abyance of audacity amplified everyone's anxietyincluding Cooper, who for the first timeexhibited a snakey irritationduring the ponderous refuelling of the jet,he could taste the escape,only he and the flight crew remained aboard,at 7:36 PM the plane was lifting into a lawless legendand the law was left clueless on the land,heading to Reno so to refuel for Mexicotaking the final puff of his last cigarettelike a fugitive at peace with fatehe told the Stewardess that she was sweetand that it was time for her to go,to go up front to the pilots and close the door,a thousand fantasies flew through her mind,she felt attached to himas though he were a nightmare that she needed,turning around to see him againto see that face which witnessed her heart changewhile securing the parachute to himselfhis eyes spoke to her's with excited fear,and then waved her goodbye as she closed the door,shortly afterwards he instructed the pilotsthrough the intercom to maintain at 10, 000 feet,release the cabin pressure,adjust the wing flaps to 15 degreesand to fly no faster than 200 MPH,he left the black tie with Mother of Pearl tie pinon the seat of his former selfand then proceeded to the plane's rear stairwayas a paratrooper prepared to meet perdition, the weight of his crime tight against his body,in the cockpitwhere speculation was spinning on their nervesthe pilots saw the red glow of emergencyfrom the panelboard indicating stairway open,as D.B. Cooper stood braced to the lowered stairsfreezing wind icing his mouth and eyeshe thought about how his Uncle15 years earlier inspired his curiosity for skydivingand how the U.S. Military should be proud of his proficiency, he recognized the Lewis River through a cloud breakand then hurled himself like a hawkinto the dropzone of America's elite outlaws -

J.A.B.

This poem is based on the true story of "D.B. Cooper",whom has never been caught for the 1971 skyjacking.He escaped with $200,000. Other than $5,800 being discoveredalong the Columbia River by a family camping in 1980the F.B.I. has found no more of the money, nor his body,parachute, clothing, etcetera. In 2016 the F.B.I. finally closed the investigationon "Dan Cooper"...Justin A. Bordner

Taken from Cloven fields, Where skylark and Grouse Linger.Into the bowels of a troopship,No scent of Morning Dew, No Bird songOnly sweat and urine,And the distant sounds of war. No light, no grass of home, only the whip.For he is bound for Flanders field.

His rider glorious in his regalia, sword in hand.He was his master now, and the horse’s salvation.Kindness, a quiet word, an apple, their bond complete.

His last feed, bathed in a red sun, Which hovered above the morning mist hiding yesterday’s sin.For this is the place where death is king and reason is lost

This day, where man throws sacrifice to the gods,Like so much sour grain, crushed, and discarded.To blow away into the winds of time,Recorded by nations into the ledgers of loss,

For now it is timeThe lines gather, then the slow trot, their proud heads, restrained,Their mouths foaming on the bit, These beasts of burden knowing no fear,A site worthy of Valhalla

Their Trust, in man, galloping where heroes dare not goOnward, onward, they gallop,Row on row into the fog, No grass here, Only mud, and wire,Waiting for the days cull.

Then the Stumble, a moment’s recovery,Blood pours from his proud neck, then the ground. His head rose, a hand strokes his brow, the last kindness, A wavered shot ushers his life away, like so many before,

No one will weep for you my War horse,No letter home,They’ll be No mention in dispatches, No Memorial For you are just an animal,Sacrificed on the altar of man, left to rot in Flanders field.

But for those precious minutes, he was more than man,This day, of all days, he kept his bond, did not flinch,Though death was all around, Galloped blindly through the death rattle of the guns, face on, No retreat, Onward, Onward,The magnificence of the horse, No equal, never forget,

For it is the shame of a nation, a sin of mankind, To undo the hand of god.No glory here, only an empty cup left on the altar of insanityTaken From Cloven Fields,Where the Skylark and Grouse LingerFor I will weep for you,My noble friend,My War Horse, You Magnificent Beast.

Lift the broken bodies with my words, bring them outAnd say “we did not die in vain.”

For every bullet hole, let there be a word To stand as a monument.

For every lost limb let there be a sonnet To stitch the truth back together.

For every eye gone blind, let there be something To take its place.

Something. Anything.

How can you not have words for the war of whispers?

How can you not shout, now that the whispering is done?

And I swear, Each time I break this promise, that the next timeWill be the last word I write about this damn war.

Red Sunsets On The Blue HillsRed Sunsets On The Blue Hills

What of soft red sunsets on the blue hillsOr true love found in sweet dreams of the lightJust as night frights give deeper cold chillsCrimson sunsetting views show heaven's might.

Such wondrous blazing stirs in me a dreamFire cast from Valhalla's great skies.Reminding of dying brave warrior's gleamOf truth in death's bearing no twisted lies.

Of glowing red sunbeams gracing sweet earthWe can see true courage gifting its hope.Man cries praying for all that he is worthFor all resting beyond his earthly scope.

When red sunsets tell us life does renew.We may ponder the path we dare to choose!

Robert J. Lindley, 10-19-2015(Modern Sonnet)

(1.) Valhalla---In Norse mythology, Valhalla (from Old NorseValhöll "hall of the slain"[1]) is a majestic,enormous hall located in Asgard, ruled over bythe god Odin. Chosen by Odin, half of those who die in combat travel to Valhalla upon death,led by valkyries, while the other half go to thegoddess Freyja's field Fólkvangr. In Valhalla,the dead join the masses of those who have died in combat known as Einherjar, as well as various legendary Germanic heroes and kings, as they prepare to aid Odin during the events of Ragnarök. Before the hall stands the golden tree Glasir, and the hall's ceiling is thatched with golden shields.Various creatures live around Valhalla, such asthe stag Eikþyrnir and the goat Heiðrún, both described as standing atop Valhalla and consumingthe foliage of the tree Læraðr.Valhalla is attested in the Poetic Edda, compiled in the 13th century from earlier traditional sources,the Prose Edda, written in the 13th century by Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla, also written in the 13th centuryby Snorri Sturluson, and in stanzas of an anonymous 10th century poem commemorating the death of Eric Bloodaxeknown as Eiríksmál as compiled in Fagrskinna. Valhalla

During intermission, or interval until the next attack, another line is worth pursuing: the origin of Valhalla and its magical power, usually transmitted in the spoken tradition. not unlike the Socratic method of information

Shamans played a very important role in the Norse society. These enigmatic beings were known for their unusual powers and they were credited with the ability to alter destiny. Beings who mastered seidr were therefore as much feared as respected by people and even the Norse gods themselves.

Unusual Power Of Seidr: Norse Shamans Used Magic To Alter Destiny And See The Future

A völva was feared. Left image credit: Maris Orelia Right: Goddess Freya was the most powerful völva.

Seidr – How Norse Shamanism Was UsedIn his book, The Viking Way: Magic and Mind in Late Iron Age Scandinavia, author and archaeologist Neil Price explains how seidr was used in general. “There were seiðr rituals for divination and clairvoyance; for seeking out the hidden, both in the secrets of the mind and in physical locations; for healing the sick; for bringing good luck; for controlling the weather; for calling game animals and fish.

Importantly, it could also be used for the opposite of these things – to curse an individual or an enterprise; to blight the land and make it barren; to induce illness; to tell false futures and thus to set their recipients on a road to disaster; to injure, maim and kill, in domestic disputes and especially in battle.”

Archaeological Evidence Shows Ancient Norse Shamans Did ExistA Völva was a very powerful female shaman and her male counterpart was known as Vitki.

The practice of Seidr (in Old Norse, seiðr) is mentioned in many Norse sagas and evidence of Norse shamans’ existence has been unearthed by archaeologists.

Norse Shamanism: A Völva And Her Prophecies Were Feared Among Norse Gods And VikingsA Völva in Norse mythology predicted the future.

A mysterious ancient grave with unusual artifacts that belonged to a Völva was found in Denmark. Some objects inside the grave that suggest she was a Norse shaman. Scientists discovered an intriguing metal wand and seeds from the poisonous henbane plant inside her tomb. These two particular accessories are associated with a Norse shaman because the name Völva (vǫlva) is Old Norse and means “wand carrier” or “carrier of a magic staff”.

The term Seidr originated from the ritual of the Norse to boil salt, which also happens to be a purification rite.

See also:

Mysterious Nine Worlds Of Yggdrasil – The Sacred Tree Of Life In Norse Mythology

Asgard: Enter The Ancient Kingdom Of The Powerful Norse Gods

Gungnir: Odin’s Magic Weapon That Never Missed Its Target In Norse Mythology

More Myths And Legends

God Odin’s Meeting With A VölvaNorse gods relied on the knowledge of a Seidr.

For example, when God Odin was determined to solve the mystery of his son’s dreams, mounted his horse, Slepnir, and made the long journey to the underworld, Nilfheim. There he called up a Völva and when she arose from her tomb, Odin introduced himself as Vegtam, the Wanderer,son of Valtam.

The Völva gave him advice, but as soon as she recognized it was God Odin in disguise, she refused to answer any more questions and sank into her tomb, vowing to speak no more until God Loki’s chains were unbound—that is, until the end of the world.

Female shamans were religious leaders of the Viking community and they were usually required to invoke their deities, gods or spirits, often before Viking warriors went to war.

Norns Were Masters Of SeidrBeing skilled in in the art of magic and prophecy was considered important in the Norse community, as seidr was also God Odin’s specialty. Norse shamans were said to possess ability to shapeshift, send nightmares to people, and alter destiny.

The Norns – Shapers Of Destiny Who Recorded Days In Person’s Life In Norse Mythology

Norns, known as ‘Shapers of Destiny’ in Norse mythology were masters of seidr.

The Norns were goddesses who ruled the fates of people, determined the destinies and lifespans of individuals.

Three principal and very powerful Norns lived in the mysterious well of Urd (‘fate’), which had its location beneath one of the roots of gigantic ash tree – Yggdrasill (World Tree”), which formed a column linking the realms of the gods, mankind, the giants and the dead.

We encounter the Norns as goddesses of fate and destiny in Greek, Roman and Slavic mythology.

The proof correlates to such intangibles as gate, the ego white light, the nature of evolution, and yes, a point You can not blow up a point because it is virtual. It belongs to the virtual realm, and it is as real as the one we usually experience. Math belongs to this real as well.

If it was not have enough to candywrap everything, perceived karma or/and existential dread, and he told better to wrote truth may be to avoid the consequences donnas faith.

Life as existentially reduced phenomena , equates from a very long held theme: the sins ofnoir fathers.

What comes of this and how this come about? The sexual guilt of a children's hour, Lillian Helman yawns, but it is a reductive effort to disjoin an act supposed to procreate , the semen wasted. Its a perception of hypocracy to uphold the myth of creation to kids, who happen to see their parents doing similarly as dogs outside, or they curious little beasts themselves, happen to glance at stores of unprotected porn.

How can the idea of the craziness of sex be equated with its animal nature while upholding a platitude of saintliness , of holding unto the innocent virginity of childhood?

What did they see, can they talk about it? Or maybe do as they do pretend not to see without the slightest suggestion of anything that may have gone down?

Why become suspicious about it and mix it with the greater one, that mixes unduly pleasure with the reality of the horror of the genetic deficit and it's procreative-speciel consideration's?

Nothing to get hung about, and it is for the advantage of modern men, that they are much more likely to avoid being pressed into a corner tunnel, like a wrecked train ominously speeding into it with no end in sight?

It can get very lonely as the place in zombie land, America yes, heading the opposite direction, toward an end of bright light light, where a reinterpretation of liberal management cues and ramifications of genetic maps, offered the coming age of Aquarius, of metaphysical connections in an age of freedom and resulting in sight to a new, shiny world of benefiscient and luminous technological applications.

An ungluing of the era of the old magic and the witches and goblins and the retributive gods.

The promised land of careless openness where the poor who will always be with us, can generate the good feeling of commaderie and good vibrations evolving with the privileged and the vested.

The guilt becomes tragically unfolded within the over stretched horizons of the fabric of social contentment, where more and more innovation and functional unity can over come the differences of the economy of the ID, as well as that of the profit margin?

The seminal masturbation of abrupt social schizms, creating the bipolarity between the inner and outer directed selves with the outcasts in the middle, numbered in the disaffected thousands growing into millions: can it be the defining form of a very brave and new world?

Fighting the downward push of the vampiric eating away of a will, the power, eroding to make a change, to pull the mystical idol floating on the still and soundless lake , the lotus of desire, the son seeking the strength of the father, who can not pretend, and has to become real, even if over come by tragic weakness in the past incarnations, for it is countless fathers before him, who's failure marked the heretofore weaknesses manifested by appearent failure. No it may not happen, as long as the heart beats.

Is there a magic in the god whose help he needs for the ultimate overcoming of the Major Arcana? That lack of reason some lost , and realising themselves, fearfully crawling like snails into their houses of horror?

The old magic of the sins of the fathers living in retired solemnity on their own Walhalla, afraid now to brand those left behind, below, in concentrated pulsating bounded types like animals to be accounted for, and expanding art, even descending into speciality for the special .

That is the meaning of the affordable liberal, and that man, that man, formed out of contradiction and understood via that contradiction, can actually pull of the faint glow of the coming of the apparent failure of civilization.

The new global unity, becoming manifest only through this contradictory presentation, can achieve its opposite, and defeat the program as usual, without appearing deceptive. Its not magic, its only a very carefully constructed sleight of hand, and the evolution of the convolution of all languages, primitive and complex, national and international, emphatically and methodologocally mixing the expressed and the implied, the natural and the artificial, the physical and the metaphysical , the archaic and the manufactured.

The mystical rose with Levi Strauss with the worship of levies.

Ask how the U.S. would have faired has it not afforded the 60's ask not what it could have done for You?

The proof is in the pudding, old characters and plots recur in infinite thematic recurrences, but what is becoming new, is the fearless look into a new meaning arising out of the ashes of a shot up, worn out dead world.

The film of privilege becoming more simulation, wrap around reality, fearless manhood abruptly cease lying to their sons, leaping thus, while the new tech of varnished glory of the golden past restored and constantly revisited through the message of guiltless loss of ego.

Time is shrinking except to those deluded by false promises and psychotic social breaks, and the strong survive even if that fracture be redefined , a diminutive gentle breeze in a constant descent into the safe space of the cave of obsessive desire.

Your father denied or failed to make a stand amid his own puerile guilts and fears for he excluded them and left the female to try to hold it together, letting her strength rise as his diminished , the zero sum ending in covered guilt ridden states man today finding himself ;always his fault, mea culpa mea culpa mea maxima culpa.

Redemption: through the doors of Preception. , in an absolute sense ,Where either there is absolute proof, or none.

There can not be a way to get through through in pieces, by becoming an incredible shrinking man by somehow squeezing through.

Its got to be a one or the other way,

The one I'm talking about is light and darkness. The light is perceived through partial qualifiers of and through timespace. And that has to be due to fragmentation of man, consisting of the idea of dying alone needing to let go of all imagined mirrored thought or , reflection. This letting go, then, before getting true, has to occur before , it is the required state of being able to apprehend the required wholeness of entrance into the realm of preception of the conscious wholeness.

because once he goes through the door fragmented , he will never be reassembled AFTER he goes through , and he will need to be reassembled again and again.

But how? Who knows. So if he goes on whole, not negated or any of his part s, then he will go through unchanged and in one piece:

He would have traveled through time whole. And he would have made it unless he chose to return , which is also a certainty, because his reentry is bound in karmic necessity caused by the failure of the upper layers of the mind fading with the passage of necessary time as cutting up reality as more and more cut off parts are lost into the vestiges of memory.

Therefore, one man can only go through whole, and if he can not be reassembled after he goes through, he can't get reassembled, only before.

Why get reassembled before he goes through the doors of Preception, is to. enable to enter hole through the doors.

Hypothetically everyone eventually get to be reassembled before, and then they will not need to go through the door, and the door will become a non existent artifact.

And then?

The nothingness beyond the door which is all of something, will let in one rotten apple just one, who will tempt the female and then everything will again be needed to have reassembled before a new door, which is really the same door.

Schwartz claims that his initial interest in psychic ability stemmed from a car accident he had with his then wife while driving on the FDR highway in Manhattan. The car was reportedly stopped on the roadway when he "heard a voice" tell him to "put his seat belt on." He told his wife to do so, and moments later, said they were rear ended by a car going 50 MPH. He claims that having his life saved by a mysterious voice prompted him to begin his research into where that voice might have come from. [5][6]

In his early career, Schwartz wrote on biofeedback research and health psychology. Schwartz's more recent research has been in parapsychology and consciousness-based healthcare. His VERITAS research project, which concluded in 2008, was created primarily to test the hypothesis that the consciousness (or identity) of a person survives physical death.[non-primary source needed][7] Schwartz performed experiments at the University of Arizona testing mediums such as John Edward, of the TV show Crossing Over, and Allison DuBois, who inspired the TV series Medium. Schwartz believes that DuBois could contact dead people. Schwartz says his experiments with DuBois included a reading for celebrity physician and author Deepak Chopra following the death of his father that Chopra characterized as 77% accurate.[8]

Gary Schwartz's Veritas Project , into conscious survival after death, at the University of Arizona

In a universe consisting of innumerable galaxies and galactic particular objects and the more innumerable meta energy systems, any thing become a possible.The idea of simulation and assimilation are the modus operans to define particularises objects whethwe they be inorganic or organic.

In such am energy filled.acemarip, the notable are of a more advanced apprpximation to the already purepisedul adbvamce toward struxtial fidelity to an ever further reaching modeling.

Modeling isn't the intermediary between simulation and the assimilation by the mirrored , and cognitive re-peating patterns, of re-cognitive content.

The numbers don't count, they only are accumulated , as potentialitis, or formal elements, without congruence, be it qualitative determinants as to the stage or number of elements.

Meaning that if, an x number of children expire before cognitive substantial development, it does not upset the possibilities for them, to return to their life's s program , a million personal or galactic reinventions.

The trillions of possibilities ensure that every one has a destiny to understand their own connect to a realm between a mirrored simulation and assimilation toward that referrable modeling.

We are more creatures belonging to similar structural models than different ones, by virtue of primary developmental progression prior to differential.

That this process , develop ed through primary cognitive efficacy of the so called extra sensory , if you were, a priori means, and later doubted, and later still nihilized, in terms of numerical qualification, does need no explanation here.

The temporal qualification approaching. both: minima and maximal, at an increasing state, gives a pause, to the idea of a synthesis, of the original unity.

But given the multi universe assumption, there are no limits , whwre by, such distinctions can occur, and their simulation, is an a-posterior reflection of construxted self images.

That there is room forn1 million humam transcripted copies within innumerable repetitions , assured absolute certainty of totally identical replication of energy patterns, given the number of permeutive possibilities In the 'out of mode 'thought'.

In fact the number of organic entities are dwarfed by the universal inorganic possibilities by extremely over bounding. ratios, making organic identities scintillas of absolute certainty of innumerable possibilities.

The person called James Saint, has argued for at least 1 other, and that makes corresponding sense, along the lines of Leibnitz.

I would hazard the minima, as the Leibnitzian notion, was restricted.to a single universe, prior to the extremely plausible multi universe realization , resulting in numbers vastly different, andntje same, as a One, albeit an Absolute One. That One may loose it"s double, and theredore , beyond numerical qualification.

That One, is the unreachable, the totally mystically approachable entity, the foundation of both: with which the bridge between simulation and assimilation could not begin a functional development.

Re-incarnation would also be nihilized, along the Way , because the direction and the objective , connecting the Source and the Final Object could not develop a workable structural model.

The numbers and the matrix formed along differential quantifiable qualities could not form a model. That it did, all along, is proof positive.

The doubt formed out of uncertainty, has.gone a lomgnway in forming more, not less basis for the opposite assertions, in particular , by setting such contradictions in terms of paradoxes, posing in variable content.

The ego is one such a content , that has little structure apart from the mirror effect proposed above ,(Ecmandu) and made into a utalitarian tool by post modern philosophy.